


all men must die

by BabaTunji



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beautiful Golden Fools, Character Death Fix, Character Study, Female Friendship, Incest, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Political Alliances, Political Marriage, Politics, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Time Travel Fix-It, Valar Morghulis, Women In Power, Women's Rights, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2020-03-08 14:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18896983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabaTunji/pseuds/BabaTunji
Summary: S8 Time Travel Fix-it





	1. DAENEYRS

She dies with a knife in her belly.

She dies a tiny distance away from a throne she never sits on.

She dies at the hands of a traitor, her love.

She dies and Drogon roars.

-:-

Dany opens her eyes to the sway of the sea. Her hand reaches hesitantly for her belly. There is no blood. She blinks slowly then rapidly. Is she not dead? What afterlife felt like this? She isn’t given much time to gather herself, because there comes a knock. She takes stock of the room she’s in first. Her cabin, on the ship they’d rode to King's Landing. Why?

The knock comes again. Unsteadily, she calls for whoever is at the door to enter. The door unlatches. Missandei enters. Up till this point she has felt only, disbelief, confusion. Upon seeing her longtime aide and the closest thing she’s has to a true friend, Dany bursts into tears.

“My Queen—?” Missandei looks confused, concerned when she closes the door silently behind her.

She doesn’t realize she’s standing, and that she’s moving till her hands encircle warm, real flesh. How is this possible? Missandei doesn’t push her away, arms moving up to return the desperate embrace.

“Missandei.” Words bubble in her mouth and tears run freely down her face. But all she can say is the woman’s name.

“My Queen, are you well?” There is real concern in that voice, a plea that she explain.

She can’t explain. Can’t speak. Can only sob. How? Is she dead? What is this? It takes time for her to eventually gather herself, her wits, her words.

“Come. Sit with me.” She doesn’t want to let go. A part of her wonders if she truly is dead, if this isn’t some sort of gentle initiation to her afterlife. If she is, she can think of no better way to be welcomed. More tears well in her eyes. She takes a deep breath. Releases Missandei from her embrace.

“Come.” Missandei follows. Concern and confusion evident in her expression.

She feels weightless. Powerful as her children. Weak as a baby. Once Missandei joins her on the bed, she begins to ask questions. Fully aware of how odd they would sound. Missandei indulges her, answering to things she already knew. Even if the memories were less fresh in her mind.

They would be docking at the harbor in Kings Landing today. For a parlay at Dragonpit. A parlay that would end in Jon Snow declaring his loyalty and Cersei Lannister refusing to aid in the battle against the others. Then she would listen to her advisers, split her forces and sail to Winterfell. Where she would lose most of the army she arrived with, a knight that  served her since the beginning of her journey and leave with no promise of fealty. After which she would march for Kings Landing, lose a son, her most loyal aide, and eventually her life.

When she’s run out of questions, she and Missandei are left to silence. Missandei most certainly wondering at her Queens mental state.

If she isn’t mad. If she isn’t dead. Then she is mostly sane, and still alive. As were two of her sons, Missandei, thousands of Unsullied and Dothraki, Jorah—. The whys and the hows escape her now. Overwhelmingly she feels a call to action.

She  failed after such an unsatisfying victory. She doesn’t want to fail again.

“This meeting today. What do you think will happen?” She poses the question to Missandei. Her eyes are on her hands, not the other woman’s face.

“We will meet the pretender.” Missandei is diplomatic, factual instead of flowery.

“Do you think she will bend the knee?” She hadn’t before. Flouting authority, and rightful claim. Refused to lend her forces in aide against the Night King. Killed Missandei in one last idiotic act of defiance. Dany  burnt down Kings Landing for it. Killed innocents and soldiers alike. For the pretenders’ gall. For Rhaeger. For Jorah. For everything she lost, all for a throne that is her right by birth.

“I do not know my Queen.” Dany finally looks up. Missandei’s expression is careful. She has always been honest even when the truth no doubt tasted bitter or sounded disparaging. It’s something Dany admires about her closest aide and adviser. Missandei did not take up airs beyond what her station as the Queen’s most trusted gave her. She did not pepper Dany with praise and other meaningless things. From her own understanding and deliberation, she gave her response clearly and without guile.

“I do not think so either.” The admission is based on knowledge she should not have. A future she will not allow to happen. How she intends to do that percolates in her mind. She has more questions. She thinks of her arrival to Winterfell, that fateful conversation with Sansa Stark. She knows now with the memory of fire and the screams of thousands, that if she willed it: She could simply raze cities and strongholds alike to the ground. Rule by fear the way the lords of Westeros expect. Even now as she thinks of what could be, of what she stands to lose. There is the impulse to do just that.

She promised to break the wheel.

She had promised to take back what was hers.

Could there be no other way? Is she fated to die? Is she fated to lose? Had everything been for naught? More tears gather in her eyes. She doesn’t know what to do. Would it be enough to simply ignore the undead and take Kings Landing by force? Would the battle of Winterfell occur the same way it had before? What if she died earlier? What if she lost her sons to the Night King instead of Euron Greyjoy’s fleet? All of these questions with no answers. No absolutes, no guarantees.

Her allies betrayed her. Varys, Tyrion, Jon. She doesn’t know if she can stand listening to such counsel. Doesn’t know if she wants them present for this parlay at Dragonpit. How many ways could she fail? Why isn’t she dead?

“Missandei?”

“Yes, My Queen?”

“Do you remember what I told you when I freed you?” Dany did.  _I can give you freedom, but not safety, I have a world to cross and wars to fight. You may go hungry. You may grow sick. You may be killed._  And she had been killed. Her 'brave heart' shed no tears, ‘Dracarys’ her dying word.

“You gave me my freedom but did not promise my safety.”

“Would you leave now, for Naath if I commanded you to?” She means it. If she failed, if she lost. If the Night King attacked earlier. If she gave in to the impulse to raze Kings Landing again. If she died.

“—Yes.” Missandei’s voice lacks inflection. No relief, no apprehension. Just obedience. Missandei promised to never lie to her, never betray her.

Dany stares into a face that haunted her dreams and waking moments before death and she feels lost. She believed the price would be worth it. Had never lied about the journey or what would be sacrificed to gain her throne. Now she finds herself less sure. That she would second guess herself after coming this far. That the life of one woman would bid her to reconsider.

“The people of Westeros, they do not know me. They do not love me.” How could she rule where she is not loved? Had she toiled all this while to become her father? “I do not want to rule with fear. I do not want to be the Queen of Ashes.”

“You do not have to rule by fear.” Missandei’s words are earnest. How could it not be?  _She_  loved Dany . She believed in her Queen. Dany won that love when she freed her. But Missandei is not the Lords and Ladies of Westeros. They did not need to be freed. There were no slavers to burn or slaves to free. Just a collection of people who deemed her outsider. Who would reject her claim and her rule.

“How else will they respect me? If they do not love me. If they deny my claim?” Even now she remembers her treatment by the North. The fear and discontent. In the end the North had not bent the knee.

“They will know you by your works.” Missandei’s expression hasn’t changed. The conviction commands her Queen’s attention. Her works. What had she done to win the love of Westerosi’s people? Its Lords? What could she do?

“In this moment, I am lost. But I must make a decision today Missandei and I fear what will happen if I choose wrongly. Help me.” She reaches through tears to clutch Missandei’s hand.

She died and now she lived.

She would not die again.


	2. CERSEI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read and everyone who commented.

There is a hand on Cersei’s waist when she wakes. Heavy and unnatural. It startles her more than opening her eyes at all. When she looks around her, she sees she is in her own bedchambers. Jaime lies beside her snoring. She waits for several minutes for things to make sense.

When she closed her eyes, she had been deep in the Red Keep, trapped and waiting to be crushed by the falling rubble. She didn’t feel like someone who had just been crushed to death. Neither did Jaime look like it. Had it just been some horrible dream? She can’t bring herself to get out of bed and find out.

Jaime left her. To fight at the wall. Then he came back. He had come back to save her. He died with her. Cersei shakes her brother awake. He comes to, quietly. Annoyance on his face.

“—Yes, Cersei?” He yawns at the end and makes no move to get out of bed. Or move his heavy artificial arm from her waist. He doesn’t look surprised to be awake. Instead of watching her, waiting for whatever reason she had to wake him. Instead of answering, she rests a hand on her belly. When the keep fell, when that dragon bitch razed the city. She had been months along in her pregnancy. Now, she estimates from the mostly flat state of her belly, she is maybe a few weeks along.

How is this possible? Jaime’s remaining hand formerly between the two of them and resting on the bed, comes to rest where her hand is on her belly. “Are you well?” His expression makes her heart drop and her mind blank. All their children were dead. This child in her belly would be her last. Jaime’ gift to her. They were not yet dead.

Cersei nods. Unsteady, then pulls out from under Jaime’ gold arm. It is earlier than either of them would normally rise. But if she is not dead. If there still remained a chance—She would take it.

Hours later she and her accompaniment stand at Dragon Pit.

Her memories are vivid even if she wonders at times if any of it even happened. She spent most of the hours before this meeting working over the incomplete information she had. Her unease at how swiftly she’d lost control at this fated meeting and the following ones irritates her. Jaime left. She’d been forced to make do with Greyjoy. She wouldn’t allow Jaime to leave her again.

She waits impatiently for the Targaryen girl. She does not ask as to her presence. She knows the girl is coming. Last time the girl made a show, with her dragon. Cersei smiles remembering how her fleet shot down two of those same dragons. She frowns remembering how the last remaining dragon razed Kings Landing.

Tyrion watches her from across the raised platform. Her wicked little brother. He told Jaime there would be a boat. He tried to help her. Even while supporting the Targaryen girl. Had attempted more than once to ’reason’ with her. Had warned her what the Targaryen girl would do. Before everything burnt.

Finally, the girl appears astride her dragon. Cersei does not stand. The girl does not make a show. There is only one dragon. It makes Cersei’s throat go dry. In her memories, the girl had flaunted 2 dragons. Now it is if she sought to shield them. She thinks the one she had just rode might even be wearing some sort of armor.

She wonders for the first time if she is not the only one with memories of a future yet to come. It scares her.

This time when she stares at the Targaryen princess, she sees recognition and she doesn't like it. Before they arrived, she instructed Euron and the rest of her men to keep silent unless spoken to. She would not have her authority flaunted by a man too stupid to do basic math. Whatever threats the Greyjoys had for each other could be said after her meeting is done.

Tyrion begins his spiel without interruption. She listens and thinks about how Jaime left her to fight at the wall. They won. Then they came back to raze Kings Landing. They present the white walker. Qyburn examines it and she watches the Targaryen princess. Who’s eyes also watch her. There is none of the posturing of the first time. The girl had nothing to prove. She destroyed Kings Landing with one dragon. If Cersei did not bend the knee the city would be taken anyway. Cersei does not want to bend the knee to a girl old enough to be her daughter.

She resists the impulse to hold her belly. Her people are silent in the face of the evidence. Already she can see Jaime’s mind putting the pieces together. The clearing awaits her response. She stands. Walking towards where the Targaryen princess is still seated. The girl stands once she steps past the middle point between their two camps and the room quiets as if holding their collective breath.

“Your goal is the Iron Throne. You wish to have me kneel. That I give my men in support of your fight at the wall.”

The Targaryen princess holds her chin high. “I wish for your aid. The threat of the others is real. As Queen of the realm it is your duty to help us fight.”

The girl never acknowledged her claim last time. Cersei’s instincts scream. So, the girl did have the same knowledge she did. It didn’t matter.

“And after this threat is dealt with?” She can hear murmurs all around her.

The girl’s gaze doesn’t waver and neither does Cersei’s. “I came that I might serve my people. The people of Westeros are my people. I seek change. I am not my father that I would force my rule on those who do not welcome it.”

Cersei bites her cheek and the murmurs grow louder. This lying bitch.

“You come with a dragon, the size we’ve never seen, with armies behind you and you claim you will not ‘force’ your rule?” The girl falters and Cersei waits. Whatever happened next, be it the Targaryen cunt razing the city now instead of waiting like she did before. Cersei would not be the one painted as ‘Mad Queen.’

Then the girl goes to one knee. The room goes silent once more and Cersei's expression freezes.

“You are Queen of the seven kingdoms. I humbly ask for your assistance in defeating the threat north of our borders. I swear that I mean no ill intent on you or the people of Westeros.” The girl is giving a show. She had to be lying. Who would believe her? Cersei did  not become Queen to be usurped by—

“Do you bend your knee to the rightful Queen of the 7 kingdoms?” The girl would never say yes. Not with the Targaryen blood flowing through her veins. Not with dragons at her back and an army to raze the city and others that dare defy her.

“I do.” The murmurs are no longer murmurs. Cersei looks up to see the shock on Tyrion’s face. On Ned Stark’s bastard. Only one woman seems unmoved, and Cersei’s eyes narrow on dark skin and darker eyes. She recognized the girl. She beheaded her the first time. Cersei clears her throat.

“I accept your allegiance and I will lend my forces to deal with the threat in the north.” Jaime would not be following this merry band of idiots. Not if she had anything to say about it.

She turns and walks back to her seat. The Targaryen princess stands. Tyrion clears his throat. “Now unto the matter of numbers. Our men—”

Cersei barely hears him with how loudly her thoughts race in her mind. The girl knew. She had to. She would never bend the knee otherwise. This is all a ruse. Jaime’s expression when she turns to look at him is similarly shrewd. There would be more negotiation and smaller meetings for how many forces would be lent, and what would actually be given in this fight against creatures out of Northern folk tales.

Kings Landing would not burn tonight. She and her child would yet live. But for how long?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of twist > > The tags say canon divergence.  
> There are 3 Queens. Daenerys, Cersei, ... Can you guess the 3rd?


	3. SANSA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short, but my muse wasn't budging so i'll have to make up for it in subsequent chapters. I have a plot (i promise) i know some of you were surprised by the last chapter. I added an OOC tag just in case and to warn readers beforehand. Moving forward this is strong *canon divergence.* I'm trying to stay true to the characters as we saw them this season while allowing for some sort of... resolution that isn't heavy on the plot armor or dumb decisions.

Sansa doesn’t remember dying.

She does remember wondering why Daenerys’ supporters disbanded so quickly. The Dothraki retreating from King's Landing, despite following their Queen across a sea. Why Greyworm allowed Jon to be sent to the wall instead of killed like he first demanded. Yara Greyjoy had given only a token protest before the Lords assembled named her crippled brother King. The last surprised her the most.

It all comes to head with dragon fire. Dorne had not declared independence when the North did, they made their allegiance clear soon enough. Daario Naheris pays them all a visit mere months after Daenerys’ death to lay waste. The same Lords who supped at her brother’s coronation turn cowards in the face of Targaryen's army and one lone riderless dragon. Kings Landing is sacked a second time and others follow. The destruction, after uneasy truce is too much. The north just barely recovered from the Night King’s attack falls quickly. As do those who supported her brother’s kingship.

She doesn’t remember dying, but she dies anyway.

Then she lives again. Awakening on a day she barely remembers in a room that doesn’t exist anymore. Once it becomes clear that this is no dream or afterlife she goes in search of her sister. She had been Queen before. Now she is simply Lady Stark. Arya shows none of the recognition she does. It is mildly upsetting. Knowing what she knows.

Sansa calculated the date herself back in her rooms. Jon would be returning to Winterfell soon. With Daenerys and her army. To fight the Night King and his army, after failing to gain Cersei’s support. Jon  bent the knee to his aunt, despite being the male heir. Then Jon killed his aunt and her death would kill the rest of them in ironic short order.

She tries not to show how uncomfortable she is to Arya. She is, however, very uncomfortable. Her knowledge of a future that is not yet true is little comfort. Her allegiance is to her family, to the north. She acted in that allegiance before and died before a full year as Queen. Knowing what she knew, she’s not as sure as she had been before.

The north refused to bend its knee to Daenerys or Cersei. But killing Daenerys hadn’t stopped the destruction. Not with her army somewhat intact and her true supporters alive and breathing. The more Sansa thinks about it the more she despairs. She assumed the first time one death would be enough. She had been wrong. She sits at a table in the evening with faces lost during the battle of Winterfell or later to Daenerys’ honor. It pains her.

There had to be a way. One that didn’t sacrifice the north or its independence to another Targaryen.

The more she thinks, in between sparse conversation the more she wonders. She spent time contemplating Bran’s sight when he returned to them, about his ability to see things past and future. He hadn’t been shocked by Daenerys’ actions at Kings Landing or at being named king. His preternatural knowledge had been useful for rebuilding the north after the battle of Winterfell, with securing aid. Till Daario Naheris showed up. In the beginning Bran had seemed one step ahead, expecting Targaryen’s supporters to cause trouble and dealing with conflicts before they become serious and then things had fallen apart and even Bran hadn’t been able to save them.

“Princess, might we take a walk?” Lyanna Mormont asks after the table has been cleared and the rooms’ occupants break away to retire for the evening.

“We may—.” She walks to where Lyanna is already standing. Sansa is reminded not for the first time how the Mormont lady died. Perhaps this time would be different?

“You seem pensive today.” Lyanna speaks plainly and Sansa wonders whether anyone had found her behavior strange today. These were trying times for everyone. With the threat of white walkers and so many wildlings among them.

“I find myself thinking about the future.” Not untrue. Knowing what she knew never mind coming to terms with the impossibility of dying yet living once more.

“Are you worried?” A simple question.

“It's difficult not to.” She knew how she would spend tonight. Bent over a desk with papers, books, and figures all while wracking her mind for solutions. To problems not yet come.

“Winterfell has barely recovered. Winter is here.” The reminder of winter feels bleak now. Supporting the population, they did, with less resources than what had been available in years past is taxing. They needed money and labor dedicated to repairs, more winter provisions and they had to manage without the glass gardens or any help from the south. At least while Cersei is Queen. Their independence came at cost.

The last letter Jon wrote to her, he had spoken of securing more foodstuff for their own stores to be delivered on his and Daenerys’ return. Stores that she remembers would be quickly devoured by the Targaryen’s standing army.

“The north will survive.” Lyanna intones and Sansa takes heart. She is the Lady Stark of Winterfell. The north is under her protection as much the king they had named. As long as she lived, there is still hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have 3 queens and a night king coming soon lol. Stay tuned!
> 
> As always thank you to everyone who reads/reviews.


	4. DAENERYS II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. I have an outline and a vision for what i want to happen. updating with a 3 chapter gap so it an be a little more smoother now. Hope this chapter is received well.

Her advisers are confused. She takes some pleasure in the uncertainty. 

Missandei is the only one unshaken by her decision to kneel, remains at her side throughout the day and through more negotiations. For men, for supplies. Every so often Tyrion will look at her, as if she has grown a second head. It would be amusing, were she not past the point of amusement. Nearly all betrayed her before. She can barely stand to look at Jon. Her cousin. The rightful heir apparently, because of the thing between his legs. Because her brother married his Stark lady before their entire family was murdered. How fortunate. 

Jorah’s presence, and the memory of his death heartens and saddens her in equal measure. He had been her man till the very end, she would not take such loyalty for granted. A small part of her wonders what would happen if she just went back to Meeran. To Daario. Left Westeros to fight its war and kill themselves over a throne that isn’t theirs. Because Jon would not be making a claim for the throne. She believed that even after he placed a blade in her belly. The thought is starting to feel less bitter. Her subsequent talks with the gathered lords and ladies, takes a different turn. 

They do not trust her. She can sense their fear, intermixed with curiosity. She is a Targaryen after all. Mother of dragons, and the rightful Queen. Yet she kneeled to the pretender. All for a shaky alliance to deal with the threat beyond the wall. It is not as unthinkable as she had once thought it. To kneel to someone who wanted her dead. She has already died. The Iron Throne would be hers, or it wouldn’t. But she would not sacrifice her all for people who did not want her, nor love her. She is not so far gone. 

She continues to speak with the people gathered. Mostly lords and ladies, the occasional knight. Some of the family names she recognizes, some she does not. Things have changed since her father was king. 

Drogon is restless, as is Rhaeger. She told the other to stay and guard the ships. Her son had not wanted to. But mercifully he listened. Drogon rests lazily on an elevated plane. So far no one has ventured too close, but many eyes watch him. Just as he watches them. Back in Meeran, Daario spoke of armor for her children. At the time she hadn’t seen the point. They were dragons. Mere arrows were useless. After her death, her opinion has changed. They were not infallible. She would not lose any more children to her own pride. Currently both of her sons are wearing test sets. Not quite molded to their frame, and a gift from Daario who went on with the project without her input. Thinking about the man makes her eyes sting. 

Eventually she has talked to almost everyone in attendance at the parlay. Tyrion joins her and Missandei where they are seated. The dwarf looks—perplexed.

“My sister would speak with you, privately.” Dany nods, she had been expecting it. Their initial meeting had not gone the way it had before, and Cersei—. She had looked fearful when she asked Dany to kneel. Like she knew if Dany wished, this entire city would be leveled. She did it with one dragon. Two dragons would be faster. 

“I will speak with her.” She and Missandei stand at the same time. The Naath woman has been silent for most of their time in the Dragon Pit. Contrast to their almost frantic conversation back on the ship. 

“She will want me alone.” Missandei is perhaps the only one who knew just how shaken Dany is. She doesn’t look at all keen on allowing her to meet with the pretender. Her friend sits down with great hesitation. Tyrion leads her away. 

Cersei is seated at a desk when she arrives. The man Tyrion referred to as “The Mountain” by her side. Tyrion leaves the room, obviously reluctant. She spares him no words. She is tired of talking. 

“How much do you know?” Cersei asks after some time has passed.

The woman died trapped below the Red Keep; in her brothers’ arms. Dany died similarly.

“You died.” Saying the words out loud makes her feel stronger. The pretender died before; she could die again. 

“As did you.” Cersei responds. The conclusion isn’t difficult to make. They were both here, with knowledge they shouldn’t have. So, they both died. What is the point of bringing the two of them back? Had they both just dreamt the same horrible dream? 

“I know despite a decent part of my army being decimated by the white walkers; I took this city with one dragon.” She doesn’t glory in death, would never look on her split decision to *burn* the place that killed her closest confidante with anything other than grief, but it feels good to say. 

“How long till you do that again?” The pretender sits almost carelessly in her chair, as if discussing the weather. Dany stares at those eyes and sees a familiar steel reflected. She flexes her jaw, clenches her fist, and tries not to show just how vehement she felt about her next words. “If you attempt what you did before, I will only come for you this time.” It’s a promise.   

“The girl or the siege?” Cersei is smirking, Dany wants to slap her, but she has had years to learn restraint, years of being talked down to and having to establish herself time and time again. 

“If I took your love, what would you do?” This is underhanded, a knowledge gleaned off the Queen’s death in her brother’s arms, drunken words of one Tyrion Lannister and her own suspicions, of the odd… history of the ruling family these last few years. She spoke to Jaime Lannister before after all.

Cersei’s smirk freezes on her face. For the first time since she stepped in the room the large hulking man at the pretender’s side stirs. Dany stands her ground. 

Like an accomplished liar, Cersei neither confirms nor denies the accusation in Dany's words. No bluster, just a new cool consideration. This woman would kill her if she wouldn’t immediately die for it and they both knew it. 

“I will not touch your love, if you will leave my heart alone. Are we understood?” It is an admission of weakness, it is perhaps the wrong thing to do, knowing what the woman across from her is capable of. But Dany has already died once, and she sees with startling clarity what she would do for one woman, for lost allies, and sons. She will not posture, she will declare her heart, and she will protect them fiercely.

The silence continues, but she finds it a comfortable kind. She has spoken her piece, whatever happened now, well she tried. 

“My eldest son, Joffrey loved the history of the Targaryen.” Cersei says out of the blue, she doesn’t look Dany in the eye, and her gaze is—well, there's something off about it. 

“He especially loved the stories of dragons, but you know what fascinated him so? The incest.” Cersei states with a wry sort of expression and Dany stares back, contemplating the message underneath this odd revelation. Cersei had no living children; Dany knows of her eldest only through very unflattering tales people told. The house of roses killed him at his wedding. His mother watched him die. 

She isn’t sure how to respond. Cersei does not say the words to her as if they were some innuendo, like some have in the past. No such scandalous note, or raised eyebrow, rather a memory of a son now dead. 

Dany grew up expecting to marry her brother and be his queen. It was what her family did, it was… their way. Blood purity and family magic, that she still knew so little about. The incestuous aspect did not bother her the way it might others, and perhaps if things with Jon hadn’t fallen apart so fantastically—well perhaps she would have taken a nephew for consort.

“I am sorry for your loss.” She finally says and doesn’t miss the subtle flinch from Cersei. She imagines she has finally crossed the line of idle threats and promises to something that would push this awful woman to try and harm her. But when she looks again at green eyes, she realizes there are tears forming. What mother did not mourn her dead children?

She turns to leave; she doesn’t think any further conversation can be had. No one stops her. 

-

After her meeting with Cersei, she has Tyrion gather as many expert builders, scholars versed in battle strategy tactics, craftsmen and maesters as he can. Under her new alliance with Cersei her request is allowable if very odd. Tyrion follows her instructions thankfully without much comment and soon she stands in a room with Missandei, some of the undying sent to guard her, Tyrion, Jorah and the people Tyrion managed to gather. She counts a lone woman among the few gathered, and it heartens her to ask the woman’s name. The woman introduces herself boldly, as Aleyne Marband of Ashemark. Dany makes note of the family name for later investigation, a Westerland house to court in the future perhaps. Then she has the rest of the room introduce themselves before delving into her reason for calling them.

She couches her question as vaguely and smartly as she can. She did not want her advisers to wonder at her odd preoccupation with trench building and artillery. The more they speak and provide different examples the more she realizes while they fought bravely, they have also fought stupidly the last time. Missandei listens with her and takes notes as they go back and forth on different strategies, building, and craft strategies. Towards the end of the meeting she asks Tyrion to inquire about taking some of them with her on the march north, especially the female builder. She makes it clear she doesn’t want anyone to be forced along, and that she would be paying them handsomely if they agreed. 

She walks with Missandei to the next meeting and they discuss quietly some of what she had taken notes on. She told Missandei everything she could recall before her death and the woman understood her preoccupation with strategy and better support for a large standing army. Despite not being as knowledgeable as some of the people Dany had just spoken to, she gives sound advice on what she thinks might work and what might not. Overwhelmingly Missandei’s strength lies in common sense, and Dany finds herself growing more confident as they discuss together. Whatever happened, she would be more prepared this time.

Later, much later she lies in the swaying and heavily cushioned bed of the ship, Missandei pressed to her back snoring softly. On another night Missandei would be with her lover, Greyworm. But she insisted on staying with her tonight. Dany hadn’t argued, honestly feeling relief at not having to be alone. She has been avoiding Jon, and she worries if she closes her eyes. The events of the day will be revealed to be a dream, or—her mind struggles to voice her anxieties. There is so much that worries her. She has secured support from the southern kingdoms today, secured men and more supplies than they’d had before. This time at least their march north would be less fraught. But she still felt antsy, it could all fall apart so easily. 

The cracks in their momentary alliance stare back at her. They had been at war prior to this armistice, she razed fields, killed Westerland men, pillaged their houses. The people have not forgotten or forgiven quite yet, the deaths of the house Tarly, her son Viserion and numerous others not yet dead but would soon be, weigh on her. More than anything she misses the confidence she once had, confidence of her place within this mess, her goals once clear, now feel muddled and disdainfully within reach. What is one burnt city?

What is the point of playing nice, and acknowledging the people under her if they would never love her? Never serve her? What would happen at the wall? What would Cersei do now that she knew what she knew? Run? Enact some other ridiculous plan? She couldn’t plan for any of this, it made her want to cry, why couldn’t she just preemptively stop the incoming fight with some well-placed dragon fire and call it done? She closes her eyes to uneasy sleep and prays fervently for clarity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't really feature Jorah more, he's important this time but Dany has a lot to work through and alot is happening at once. Will flash back as it all becomes more relevant.


	5. CERSEI II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading, and the sweet comments last chapter! I'n gearing up to cover a lot of writing ground this february and I hope the changes coming excite the readers as much as they excited me!

Jaime is looking at her like she’s grown a second head. She doesn’t care, she has knowledge he doesn’t. An understanding of what that dragon bitch is capable of, what she would do for one stupid slave girl. Targaryen madness is real, and Cersei would not die a second time, her child would  _live_.

“She bent the knee, this isn’t enforceable.” He’s using the tone he uses when he thinks she’s being unreasonable, more common ever since she became Queen. 

“She is a liar and a cheat. She just wanted supplies from us, look at her army Jaime. This is a ruse.” They barely held their side in the last few months against the bitch, Euron’s and Jaime’s victory the only bright spots. They expected it to come down to siege eventually. Against a standing army that size and with slowly draining coffers. 

Jaime has no memory of a dragon turning King’s Landing into rubble and smoke. Cersei does and she expects it will happen again and soon, if she does not  _act_. 

“The threat at the wall needs to be dealt with first. They tell me she lost a dragon already to those things. She is not some unkillable monster.” Jaime would know, he already tried—and failed. 

“The threat at the wall is a distraction.” They defeated that threat before without Cersei’s support. Now she is further weakening herself, given the bitch, men and supplies, for what? 

“If you would just let me go with my men— “ Jaime stops midway through his sentence. 

Cersei doesn’t know how her face must look right now. She imagines very angry, appalled, maybe even fearful. She tries in vain to smooth the edges of her panic. 

“I need you here, Jaime.” She gave her support to keep her brother with her. She isn’t so oblivious to miss the obvious connection. Jaime left her before to fight this threat, she would not allow him to leave her again. He came back, of course, he always did. But not before she slept with that horrible Greyjoy and had to deal with a group of houses and advisers that treated her like she is stupid and saw Jaime’s absence as a mark against her. 

Her brother responds by wrapping his single arm around her, pulling her close, till their foreheads are almost touching. 

He has been more affectionate as of late, a result of her pregnancy maybe, the direness of their current situation, or perhaps the pure joy of being able to share a bed together regularly with minimal fuss and subterfuge. She loves being Queen, she loves having her brother like this. 

“I’m here. Please don’t do anything rash, let the threat at the wall do the work for you. We still have time.” He reassures her firmly. She’s yet to mention contracting the Golden Company to him. She doesn’t think she will just yet.

“We spoke privately today, do you know?” Of course, he did, Jaime is a watchful protector.

“What did you discuss?” He guides both of them backwards towards the bed. 

“Nothing.” Targaryen knew about them, about her children. No surprise if Tyrion is one of her fucking advisers. 

“Truly?” Jaime’s legs hit the edge of the bed and they go toppling down together. In the past when they were younger, she might have yelled in annoyance at the roughness of their landing. But after so many years it’s just one more thing. He cushions her fall anyway, and she rests once settled on his chest, face not far from the juncture of his neck and shoulder. 

“Truly.” She responds, thinking back on the conversation. Daenerys knew a great many things, and that knowledge wouldn’t change if she told Jaime, just scare him into thinking she is losing her wits. Besides it is no lie, their conversation hadn’t given her much in the way of workable information. Though Jaime knowing her as well as he did would probably take her answer to mean they threatened each other out of the sight of their respective supporters.

The Tyrells sided with Targaryen brat and Cersei decimated them for it. She killed Tyene while her mother watched. It doesn’t feel like enough. It would not bring back Joffrey, nor Myrcella, nor sweet but oh so stupid Tommen. 

Daenerys told her: ‘I am sorry for your loss.’ As if she meant it, as if she knew what it meant to lose not one but  _three_ children.

Cersei digs her fingers into the meat of Jaime’s arm, simultaneously fighting the sting of tears. Jaime’s only response is a grunt, and then a rough pull,  _up,_ that aligns them better for a kiss. She slides a hand between then to rest on her belly, there would be no more dead children. 

-

In the morning, there are more meetings and more negotiations. The Targaryen host reclaimed some of her prisoners, including Yara Greyjoy and intended to push forward quickly to reach the north, with supporting troops from the various southern houses trailing. Euron and his men are reassigned to courier and transport duties, something he protests greatly, and Cersei barely tolerates, despite being an annoyance he is a decent ally. If he is away delivering supplies or news, she would be left with even less resources and support. It bothers her greatly. The Targaryen may have bent the knee but her army, her dragons and the support Cersei is now offering however resentfully told a different story.

 

She discusses with Qyburn in the afternoon about what to do next now that they were ‘allied’ with Targaryen. Her most pressing concern in a growing pile is money, they needed money and in a timely fashion but ever since Littlefinger’s departure it’s been significantly harder to manage the throne’s finances. Couple that with Robert near bankrupting them before he died, they’re approaching dire levels. Her father near beggared the Lannister house to support her, and her Joffrey. Now she finds herself alone, dealing with the issue. Daenerys even gave a sizable money 'tithe' as thanks for Cersei's support, it would be useful for paying off some of their debts, but they needed much more. 

Before, she utilized Euron’s piracy and had him sack the lords who bent the knee to Daenerys or supported her fight at the wall. Now that isn’t an option. There is also the issue of her growing pregnancy. She passed the child in her belly off as Euron’s, relying on his arrogance that he is so “irresistible” that Cersei would sleep with him on one of his more drunken nights (and thus have no memory) of the night.

This time she doesn’t know how she will explain the pregnancy, just knows she needed to legitimize the baby quickly. An idea—a silly one from a time where she believed she would eventually be Queen and have her brother at her side and nothing horrible would happen in between—is percolating in her mind. She interrupts Qyburn's rambling. 

“Dorne negotiated with Daeron with marriage and a well-timed assassination. An assassination at this time would set the Targaryen host on the capital and I have no children to wed off." Had things not gone so spectacularly wrong she might be in a better position to negotiate, as it were, she felt like it is only a matter of time before the dragon bitch applied pressure. She has seen her speaking with different lords, walking about as if she owned the place. It pisses Cersei off. 

Qyburn nods his balding head in acquiesce. “Yes, but that can change, and in the unlikely case of a rebellion ending in our defeat, you may still claim princehood for you and your descendants as the Dorne did, following the death of Daeron I.”  

Cersei stares at the map on the floor before them. Qyburn is hoping they could duplicate past history with the Targaryen, and that in the event of her being dethroned, Daenerys would be willing to negotiate for peace, which would allow Cersei and in extension Qyburn to continue on as they had with some sovereignty. She doesn’t have such hopes, but the more she considers her situation, particularly her still unknown pregnancy the more a wilder, less cautious idea grows in her mind. 

The Targaryen wed brother to sister, to maintain blood purity and in line with a Valyrian tradition. A tradition Daenerys would no doubt still follow, if she wanted her descendants to be able to control the wild beasts, she called her children.

“How much legitimacy do you think the Targaryen still have? Their incestuous tradition for example?” She’s seeking something here.

Qyburn answers more hesitantly. “I can only speculate, they justified it with their dragon magic. Daenerys has dragons, which her fathers, and grandfathers did not. She also shows no signs of Targaryen madness.” 

Cersei snorts, the bitch was mad alright. She burnt Kings Landing and stormed the city after they surrendered. Her response yesterday certainly peaked Cersei’s interest and disgust. The Targaryen were known to have… different tastes. There have been stories, famous ones of Aegon III’s mother Rhaenyra and her—appetite. Daenerys' conquest of the Dothraki and Meereen certainly supported some of those stories. The girl carried herself like a man, small wonder if she fucked like one. 

It reminds her of one of her current irritants, Taena Merryweather. Despite most reacting to the events at the Sept of Baelor and her ascension as a reason to give her a wide berth and to fear her wrath. The Myrish woman has consistently sought out her company, offering even more curious conversation. She isn’t an ugly woman mind, not as beautiful as Cersei of course, but carrying an exotic charm some might like. Cersei found her too forward. 

“With Targaryen’s return, that tradition will continue yes?” If those filthy dragons spawned even more of their kind… Well, they might have a Targaryen revival on their hands. Better she prepare herself now. 

Qyburn nods, “Most likely. Though she is the only living heir currently, as far as we know.”

“Women have children.” If the girl isn’t already pregnant now, Cersei would be surprised, but then Daenerys is young, and perhaps too busy fucking in ways that did not result in pregnancy. 

“Then yes, she might follow the tradition of her forefathers.” Qyburn doesn’t ask where this is going but she can feel his confusion. She gives him a hint. 

“So, she should in theory… endorse the tradition of her forefathers, in the current ruling family. Perhaps even look forward to the fruit of such a union yes? As prospects of her own descendants.” 

She sees the exact moment Qyburn catches her drift. It would be humorous were the situation different. 

“This could backfire horribly, your grace.” 

She doesn’t respond, standing up to pace the room. Daenerys threatened her the day before, but she bent the knee as well. Knowing what she knew, knowing that this whole farce could be ended with some pretty lights and dragon fire. The bitch didn’t want a fight, she wanted to keep her armies, her moral superiority, and not lose her precious little Naath whore. Cersei could use that. She hadn’t seemed disgusted or appalled by Cersei’s union with her brother, no doubt Tyrion told her all sorts of stories. The girl’s caution bids Cersei to consider what she previously thought impossible and question: ’why not?’ 

She knew just how horribly this plan could backfire. But she finds herself considering it anyway. She already died once after all that caution, the lies, the trickery. She destroyed the High Sparrow and his ilk for what they did to her, ruined the Tyrells for their plots against her and killed many more. Who did she have left to fear?  

If she were to die again, she wants everyone to know just whom they served. All the sweeter if she could use Targaryen to do it.

They discuss more of course, with Qyburn trying his hardest to dissuade her, going through scenario after scenario. But her heart is set, all she had left to do is propose. 

-

Jaime is training with his men when she finally finds him, having ignored her summons. It’s not as annoying as it could be granted. Her memories are tainted with him  _leaving_ her to follow the Targaryen host north. It reassures her more than anything to see him following her command to remain at her side. More surprising to find their youngest brother with him. She observes for some time before approaching. She hasn’t forgotten the dwarf’s last deeds for her brother, (she knows it wasn’t for her sake), but she will never care for him. 

Jaime notices her approach and steps forward swiftly; Tyrion watches her silent. It soothes her some. The dwarf knew better than to approach her. She wonders if Daenerys would give him to her as a wedding gift, probably not. 

“Your grace.” He addresses her appropriately and it makes Cersei smile. 

“Walk with me.” She is already moving from the gathered crowds. In the distance she can see the eye-catching shape of one of Targaryen’s dragons. Hanging over them like a reminder. For once it doesn’t sour her mood, potentially that same dragon would be legitimizing her unborn child very soon. Jaime quickly falls in step. Her brother would be curious about her summons but unwilling to ask. They would have seen each other tonight is no doubt his excuse for not responding. 

“Do you remember the promise you made to me… when we were children?” She starts with a memory. Her brother has made many promises to her over the years,  broken quite a few as well. But this is one promise, he had yet to break, at least not for long. One breathe, two—

“I do.” Jaime’s answer is simple, affirming her resolve in two words. They walk together till they are in a more private corridor. The words bubble out her throat.

“Would you marry me?” Jaime has asked her before, has hinted, has pled, has whispered the filth when he fucked her. This is perhaps the first time she has asked him. Her brother just stares, he looks—he looks like a hooked fish. 

“I’m serious Jaime.” She says when he doesn’t answer. He closes his mouth. 

“What is this about?” She can see hurt, resentment maybe in his eyes. It pains her but this is not the place to discuss something this delicate. She will explain when she gets her answer, and she wants one now. 

“Answer your Queen, Jaime.” 

Her brother huffs, and the golden arm shifts a bit, she watches his remaining hand tense and grip. Then he finally answers her.

“Yes. Now tell me what is going on.” 

Cersei smiles, and takes his hand, the real one in both of hers, practically dragging him to her rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! What do you think? (also feel free to yell at me @tjadakaa on tumblr or twitter)


	6. SANSA II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate doing geo-political anything in a world that doesn't let people who *may be able to give birth (not even confirmed just a maybe) be masters of their faith. Half the time I'm like why can't we form agreements and alliances that doesn't include certain people and their livelihood as collateral??? But well needs must.

Littlefinger falls into their trap the way he had before. Sansa feels very little staring at the face of the man that ‘saved’ her. It all feels like background noise, her thoughts are far away. Faced towards the fight to come, their lack of preparation frightens her. The more she considers their numbers, their resources, the more amazed she is at how they managed to win before. The death toll of course reminds her what it cost. The North lost several houses in one night alone. Daenerys in turn lost a decent portion of her accompanying army. Would it all happen the same as it had before? Would Arya be the one to slay the night king? 

Arya executes Littlefinger and Sansa wonders not for the first time what her youngest sister has become. What they had all become in their fight to survive. Fortunately, her strange behavior goes unnoticed, Arya and she may be newly stuck at the hip as it were before, but Arya didn’t know her. Had no frame of reference for Sansa’s newly invigorated thirst for knowledge and her inability to sleep for a full night. Arya herself had nightmares so Sansa had company on the nights she burnt the midnight oil. Upon reflection she realizes, perhaps the oddest thing about her siblings returning to Winterfell is how little they have truly spoken to each other. Beyond explanations for where they had been, what they had done, they were strangers to each other. At least with Bran the distance could be blamed on his overall oddness and changed spirit. With Arya, Sansa didn’t really see the girl she used to be. Even when they fell into banter that resembled their childhood squabbling. It isn’t deep, it felt superficial more than it had the last time. Knowing what she did and remembering the upheaval that eventually killed her, she can see the cracks in Arya’s ‘people’ mask. She can’t find the words to tell her sister that the mask isn’t necessary, that she didn’t need to pretend to be a girl that was already dead. 

Tonight, she's alone, an oddity these days. She thinks she has a plan or at least an approximation of one. She ranks her concerns one by one, defeating the night king and the gathered undead, Daenerys and northern sovereignty, Jon's claim to the throne and all its implications. Finally, if they survived all that, they would then have to survive the winter. So far, she has no reason to believe that things that happened before would not simply happen as they had if she made no change to her own actions.  So, what lay for her to do is to see just how much she could manipulate to change the outcome that killed her and the North before.  

The lords and ladies of the North are proud. They are also worried; she worries with them. But she must be strong and do what is right for all of them and not just their pride. Whether or not they will allow her, is another story. She needs to build a stronghold, restore Winterfell and its allies. She needs to handle Jon's heritage differently than she had before. Her decisions made perfect sense to her at the time she made them. But now she can see cracks. What is the point of removing one tyrant only for everything to be destroyed a mere year or two later? They already lost so much. She didn't want to lose that much again. Now more than ever she can see why her ancestors did what they did when dealing with the ancient Targaryen. What is one bent knee for survival? Winter is coming.

She's had several conversations now with the Lyanna Mormont, more than she had before. The young lady reminds her of Arya with her tenacity and gall but carries herself in a way that Sansa can only admire. She also calls Sansa princess with a conviction that gives her strength. The acknowledgement a reminder and a pledge. She was told that even when facing death, the lady had been so brave, so strong, felling a giant, that tiny girl. Immortalized forever in one brave but oh so stupid act. Personally, Sansa would prefer that House Mormont live on than any giant's head as trophy or song. She's been looking at their capabilities and what she could do to change the outcome of those horrible battles. More often, she's struck after some of her readings by their lack of preparedness. They depended almost entirely on Daenerys support. And at a time where funds were low and resources even lower. Hadn't been as able to build the sort of weapons and armor or even defensive structures that might have made a difference. She thinks perhaps if the lady Mormont had been given a mechanical crossbow or they utilized more of the supplies and weapons she's seen described in the books she reads on warfare maybe—.

That's not the only text she's been reading either. The library had been less affected than some of Winterfell's sacking and she thanks the seventh now. There are texts, dated and mostly untouched on the history of Westeros and more specifically the Targaryen themselves. She paid more attention than her sister during her lessons as a girl, but it focused more on northern history and houses than the south or the former ruling dynasty. She remedies some of that ignorance now and it confirms something she already realized. Sansa cannot approach Daenerys  the way she had before. She knows now that killing Daenerys wouldn't solve their problems. She can admit her failures at least in defending the North. She hadn't tried, at least not beyond the superficial level, to reach Daenerys or come to a beneficial understanding. 

Their negotiation ended with the North insisting on retaining sovereignty, over more pressing concerns of preparing for winter or ensuring enough houses survived the battle of the undead for there to even be an independent gathering. Her musings make her think if Margery. Sweet, beautiful and now dead Margery. The late Queen could turn enemies to allies, Sansa remembers watching her with Joffrey and being jealous at how well she steered him even at his worst moments. Could she manage that with Daenerys? Could she compel the woman to help them and not just run roughshod over them? Provided they survived this battle with the Night king another bitter more mundane fight lay ahead. 

She is not wary of exercising the powers she now has. Before she had been hesitant, unwilling to step on toes and even more unwilling to bind herself in marriage. But she reigned as Queen of the North for a year and presided over a much-reduced northern gathering. If nothing else ensuring there were named heirs, reinforcing fealty and shoring up their limited resources from sources like the Vale is the least she could do. Appointing new lords and consolidating Winterfell's power in uncertain spaces such as the Twins. A region of Riverlands formerly held by House Frey is another. She has been studying family lines and houses, so many more were alive this time. She can see potential matches and alliances, some even beyond the North to those in the Vale and beyond. 

Daenerys claimed King's Landing from Cersei well enough the first time, even if she destroyed it in the process. Still the lords and ladies of the south had been available somewhat to Sansa's machinations following that destruction. How much of that was owed to Bran being king at the time is uncertain. Remembering what Daenerys did to King's Landing before chills her. Giving her a new visceral fear now. Daenerys could just as easily do the same to Winterfell. Why hadn't she before? Or had she simply been planning to consolidate her power as Queen and then returning to take what she claimed as hers? What had Jon told her that would lead her to believe the North would accept another Targaryen? The irony doesn't escape Sansa however, the North already named a Targaryen as it's king even before Daenerys appeared, even if he bore the name Stark. Would the Lords and Ladies reject Jon if they knew or would they push him to challenge his aunt? Sansa doesn't know nor does she think Jon would agree to such a challenge. He killed her before because he agreed with their assessment that she was mad, whether from power or grief, like her ancestors before her.

She knows Jon and for all that he's been thrust into power time and time again he didn’t relish it. Didn't chase it the way other men like Petyr and Tyrion had. Didn't dream of crowns or songs or glory. He just wanted the North and it's people safe. He bent the knee and relinquished his title as king to Daenerys because he thought it would save them. Even after learning the truth of his parentage he denied that claim. Were Sansa not so frustrated she would be proud of the man she considered a brother but is actually a cousin. She reads compulsively, studying subjects and things she wouldn't have given much thought to before. She shares meals with ghosts and plans and then redacts those plans. Through all of that, she weighs her choices—their choices in extension and thinks, perhaps, maybe—maybe it would be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The show as of s8 has a political vaccum and a feudal system that falls apart if you look at it too closely. R.I.P.  
> Come yell at me on Tumblr or discord.
> 
> Constructive criticism is encouraged and appreciated. I'm still finding my feet with Sansa. Sorry for the lack of dialogue, I'm still setting things up and didnt have much inspiration not unlike Sansa who's currently brooding on how to save their collective asses. Promise there will be much more dialogue in the coming chapters, heck you might even get sick of all the talking.


	7. DAENERYS III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding invitation, Draconic and a breakup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk why but i've been writing Dany's full name out instead of using the nickname we all refer to her (and she uses her self in the book in introspection) so i'm using it now. I dont mind using Dany's full name when I write but it's probably been a little jarring for some readers.

The next morning, they begin final preparations for her departure. She gets ready with Missandei’s help and they trade quiet words on what would need to be accomplished during the day and the following week. Dany is making several changes and even more decisions she didn't previously. It's not just bringing more people and supplies on the trek North, but a conscious effort to court and establish herself within Kings Landing.

She thinks she needs to speak to Jon; she can’t keep avoiding him at least not without some explanation. She doesn’t know what she will tell him, however. Her thoughts towards him are muddled. Anger and despair the most overwhelming. She spends the morning watching her children fly and speaking with different craftsmen, laborers as well as anyone be, they noble or commoner to approach her. They are curious, for the dragons and as to her intentions. Most have heard Jon’s and other’s retelling of the threat to the North. Most seem either unconvinced or assured that she would be returning victorious. She herself doesn’t share such confidence. But she tries to accept their conversation, inquiries, questions and attempts at flattery or insult with grace. 

She hadn’t done this the last time, angry as she had been at Cersei’s gall. Now she takes the time however precious it might be to learn names, faces and little tidbits of the people of Kings Landing. It’s during these talks that the Queen herself approaches. She’s not expecting it of course, not after their conversation the day before. She nods to the group she was just speaking to before the Queen’s arrival then walks over to where the women is standing with some attendants. Her bodyguard is not too far away, peering much like everyone else at the sky above. 

“Good Morn, Princess. Would you care to walk with me? I have a matter I would like to discuss.” Cersei’s address chafes her pride. She is a queen not a princess, but she knows the older woman does it to anger her not out of ignorance. She nods stiffly and follows the blonde woman’s graceful steps away from the gathering. They walk for some minutes before Cersei speaks again. 

“You intend to leave quickly I’ve been told. However, I have a wedding invitation that might delay your departure, should you attend. It’s in the Valyrian tradition, thus I believe It might interest you.” 

She’s expecting several potential topics, perhaps even more threats. Not a wedding invitation, it takes special concentration not to break her steady gait. “Oh? Who’s wedding would it be? How soon?” She assumes some lord or lady trying to seek her favor. Maybe even a plot to assassinate her. She’s getting ready to refuse; the wall couldn’t wait. Every day the night king grew stronger, a wedding isn’t serious enough for her to— 

“My wedding, in two days’ time.”

This time she does stop walking. Cersei does too. 

“And your husband?” Dany finally asks, unsure of where this request and this change is coming from. In the previous timeline Cersei remained unwed, though there had been talk of her and Greyjoy. What reason would she have to marry besides some sort of alliance or exchange?

“My brother, Jaime.” Cersei tells her.

Dany simply stares. “The Valyrian tradition…” Her voice is barely audible as she recalls out loud Cersei’s earlier words.

The Lannister woman smiles triumphant, her smile is full of teeth and lacking in any warmth. 

“Yes. If you attend it would be quite… interesting.” 

Westeros didn’t like the Targaryen and ultimately Valyrian tradition of wedding brother to sister or taking more than one spouse. The Faith condemned it. Yet here Cersei is inviting her to such a wedding. What did she think would happen? Did she want to turn people against Dany? Blame her Targaryen influence? Or rather utilize her presence to do something she’s always wished to? The real intent behind this supposed action puzzles her. Cersei couldn’t have been planning this all along, or did this also happen the previous time and her would-be husband ran away? Should she refuse the invitation or accept it? Could she afford to stay two days longer than planned? 

“Why are you inviting me?” She asks.

“You practice Valyrian traditions do you not? I imagined this might make you feel more welcome. To see you aren’t alone.” Cersei’s words are sugary sweet and make Dany even more weary. 

“Your people will not like it.” Is all she manages to say to such obvious pandering. She doubts the woman cared at all that she felt ‘welcome.’ This is obviously a plot of some sort. It would be best to avoid it all together.

“My people will have to accept it. I doubt you intend to follow the tradition of the Faith when your own children are old enough to marry.” 

“I will not force my children to marry each other.” Dany can’t help the way her voice rises, anger and resentment at the custom that tied her to Viserys till he traded her away. She ignores the voice in her mind that reminds her, she would have no human children.

Cersei tilts her head, as if considering her. 

“But you will not deny your family traditions, will you? If it serves your house, if it serves your interests. Your brothers and your father did not have dragons. You want to preserve them, don’t you?”

Dany considers her next words carefully and tries not to think of what would happen to her children if she died with no human heirs to her name. “I will do as I see fit. So will my children. It does not concern you or anyone else.” 

Cersei nods as if Dany has just proven her correct. “Then you are wrong. Perhaps outside of Westeros you could do as you like, and everyone smiled and agreed. But within Westeros… Either you set the precedent, or you let the rabble denounce you. Which will it be princess?”

“I am no princess!” Dany’s temper flares at the address and at the gall of this pretender to lecture her. “You are only trying to use me to your own ends, do not pretend otherwise.” 

Now, she has been patient and careful where she wishes nothing more than to end this charade decisively. She has her limits and this woman is testing them to the very edge. Cersei’s exasperated expression changes into a neutral one and Dany waits to see what she would claim next.

“I am and if you allow me to, it might make your future decisions less outlandish to the people of Westeros. This is a wedding that serves us both.”

Dany’s frown deepens and she looks back in the direction they came. Better that they leave quickly before anything unexpected might happen. Better she follow the timeline she knows well than to delay further and potentially be killed for her folly. Yet… Cersei’s words made sense. Sugary and caustic as they were. She sees how people treat her here in Westeros and remembers the North’s behavior. Unlike other places they know the history of her house. Some even better than she. They know the transgressions and the oddities and the cultural ‘quirks’ as some might say. They judged her for it, made assumptions of her, her character and her intentions. She could claim all she wants that she is different, but she is battling against a long history and even deeper grievances against her father in particular. She wouldn’t let herself be bullied of course, but if she intended to live in Westeros and eventually govern it. She needed to be prudent, to make allies and lay ground for her legacy. Better than her father and any Targaryen before her. 

“Did your brother agree to this wedding?” She’s still not certain if this occurred in her memories and the Lannister Lord hadn’t just ran away to avoid it. Cersei smirks.

“He’s proposed to me many times before. This time I proposed to him, and he agreed.”

The candid response takes Dany aback, not for shock at the underlying insinuation but for what she perceives to be honesty coming from the other woman. Particularly in the face of Dany’s almost certain refusal. She would be marrying her brother whether or not Dany is present. Potentially hurting Dany’s reputation amongst the people or helping it. She’s not sure which it would be.

“I will give you my response to your invitation by the day’s end.” She tells Cersei before striding back towards where she spent the morning. She doesn’t wait for the woman to dismiss her; she is not a princess but a queen herself. 

-

Missandei comes to find her on her walk back and Dany makes it clear she wishes for the two of them to be alone. When they are alone, and she feels comfortable enough to speak she relays the previous events. Missandei helps by asking good questions as she goes through the pretender’s invitation and her immediate worry. Not far from where they are, she hears Drogon and Rhaegal’s jittering calls for her. They can feel her trepidation and anxiety.

“This did not happen before.” She wants to make that clear. “Or if it did, her brother fled before she could do so. I don’t see why I shouldn’t do the same.” Truth be told so much of her thoughts for the future and the politics it would involve had been more focused on acquiring the throne and dealing with any threats to that goal rather than whatever clashes she might have with the Faith or Westeros’ sensibilities.

“She could be lying.” Missandei doesn’t seem convinced, however.

“She seems set in her decision, and I’m not sure what will happen if I stay any longer. We didn’t stay this long before. It’s dangerous, anything could happen.” Never mind whatever changes would occur from her own actions now and up till their arrival in Winterfell.

“Perhaps you should speak to her brother?” Missandei suggests.

Dany starts to shake her head then stops. It could indeed be the simplest solution to finding out the true intent to this invitation, even if Jaime Lannister lied. Cersei wants to use her while she is still in Kings Landing. Surely, she wouldn’t dare marry her own brother without the Targaryen name to cover her? But then all her children had been her brother’s according to Tyrion. She didn’t seem to have shame, or limits.

“I will speak to him. Help me find Tyrion and have him call Jaime.” Maybe even keep Tyrion present as well for the conversation. Missandei nods and another shrill call rips overhead. Dany winces and Missandei immediately reaches for her. She’s opening her mouth to reassure Missandei she is fine when the Naath woman makes a soft call of her own. Not in English but something else. It reminds Dany of the odd whistle she’s heard some herders use. Then something very surprising happens next, Rhaegal trills back. Low and concerned but seemingly calmer than he had been before.

“What was that?” Dany is smiling, she’s never heard Missandei make a call like that, or seen Rhaegal respond to anyone who isn’t her… Or Jon or food.

Missandei smiles, “I’ve been listening to the sounds your children make. Some of it can be replicated and there are re-occurring ones. Like the one I just used. I think it means, ‘comfort.’”

Dany can’t help but goggle at her companion. “You understand them?”

Of course, Dany could understand them, they shared a connection. While it isn’t always the best for clear communication, it worked as needed. But what Missandei is describing is different, particularly if her ‘translations’ were accurate.

Missandei looks a bit embarrassed now and lowers her gaze. “I wouldn’t call it understanding. I just spend time with them sometimes and pick up things. The only person who understands them is you.”

Suddenly she’s reminded of a scene she witnessed weeks back during their voyage. A sailor, not among the unbroken but one of the hired hands, had made a rude call towards Missandei. Her sons at the time were flying overhead as they usually did and one… Rhaegal she’s almost sure of it now swooped down and scared the entire ship. The sailor in question fled before Dany could personally bring him to task but now, she thinks, Rhaegal did it for Missandei. In his own way. How much could her children understand? She’s witnessed different instances of just how intelligent they were, but what Missandei is proposing and what she just implored Dany to consider with her actions is something Dany hasn’t really considered before.

“What If we worked together? I understand them yes, but it’s not an actual language. If you listen and translate and I check to see what they feel maybe—” She trails off.

This could be very useful, not just for communication with her sons but for better battle strategy in the future. People were scared of her children with good reason, but it made no sense for them to be unable to communicate as clearly as they could manage if they were capable of it or so inclined. Rhaegal at least might be curious enough to let them try.

“I can’t promise any sort of accurate translation, my Queen!” Missandei seems a bit panicked now and Dany steps away from the sheer possibilities coming to mind, to reassure her.

“It’s okay if it doesn’t work. But imagine if it does! Missandei if you are really communicating with them and they can communicate with you it could be very useful!” And potentially headache inducing, if they realized the full extent of what language could be used for. Which she thinks with dawning dread they probably would. They’ve already been able to make other human world connections for food, safety and even what counted as currency. Giving them the tools to better communicate would… How had she never pursued this before?

“I will do as my queen commands.” Missandei is blushing now barely noticeable on her brown skin, but Dany is familiar enough to recognize the expression for what it is. She also sees pride in those intelligent eyes. Not just in herself no doubt, but for Dany’s decision.

Missandei knows, perhaps more than she, what potential lay in teaching her sons to communicate with humans. She spoke more languages than anyone Dany knows. Who else would be able to not only pick up on the similarities, piece together potential meanings and then  _replicate_ them accurately? She is also confronted with the high possibility that Missandei had been able to do this for a while and only just presented the possibility to her. Knowing Dany might have dismissed, ignored or even received the revelation badly. She didn’t miss the way the woman made sure to reassure her that Dany alone understood her children. Even if now that Dany thinks more, it isn't completely true. Yet Missandei presented her findings anyway, and Dany has shown her gamble to be worth it.

Dany is nearly overwhelmed by love for the woman sitting beside her. A new sort of hope fills her as well. This is something that had not happened before and this by her estimations is  _very_ good.

Missandei stands to leave, no doubt to find Tyrion and Dany asks, “Do you have a sound for ‘love’?” Missandei pauses and considers her question before responding.

“Maybe. There is a sound they make when feeding and one they make when they are greeting you. Which do you want to hear?”

Dany fights a laugh, of course. “When they are eating.” She’s curious. Missandei nods and clears her throat. Then she makes the sound, and Dany isn’t surprised it is indeed very similar to one she’s heard since her children were small enough to ride on her shoulders.

The response from Rhaegal and Drogon this time is immediate. Dany can’t help it, she laughs.

“You are amazing, Missandei. Quickly go find Tyrion, I will see about getting something for these busybodies to eat.” Missandei leaves her with a smile.

-

Hours after an enlightening if stilted conversation with Jaime, for which Tyrion is also present, Dany is finally ready to send Cersei her decision on the invitation. But before she does, Jon comes to find her.

She’s been expecting this. They have spent much time together since they met. Her suddenly avoiding him would send some sort of signal, as did her recent and unexpected decisions. He’s as respectful when he greets her but senses her distance and doesn’t intimate anything more. She knows she needs to talk to him, explain what she’s already sure of but hasn’t yet found time or space to say but it’s difficult. Jon had  _killed_ her.

In the end he had not been loyal to her, but then neither had Varys or Tyrion. She knows better than to trust any of them this time, but she fears the damage that will be done anyway. Killing them wouldn’t make her seem more reasonable, rather out-maneuvering them would be better. That and making sure they were no longer considered favored by her or in proximity to know her most intimate thoughts or plans.

“Has something happened?” Jon’s tone is awkward but earnest.

Dany shakes her head. “No. I’ve just had a change of heart.”

She died, that is the so called ‘change of heart.’ Viserion and Jorah and Missandei and Rhaegal and  _she_ died. For people who could care less about her, and who deemed a man who is happier at a guard post at the wall more fit to rule than her. She died after attaining the one thing she sought for years. It hadn’t even felt good, that achievement. Sleep deprived as she were, grief stricken, exhausted, and haunted.

“What do you mean?” Jon’s tone is dubious and Dany struggles to explain. The truth is too much, rather she blame her sudden disregard for her advisers not counting Missandei on their future conflict than… something no one would believe.

“I have been approaching my introduction to Westeros wrong, I believe. It worked before with you and the Tyrells, but it won’t work with Cersei, or the Lords and Ladies or the little people.”

Look where it had gotten her. The Tyrells were ultimately defeated by the Lannisters and Jon eventually killed her. She needs a different strategy, a different path or she would die, again.

“Is that why you kneeled?” Jon’s voice is so very soft. It’s not the first time someone’s asked as to her reasons. With Jon she’s reminded that he had first kneeled to her. Had set aside any pride or misgivings to see her as she is, and to ask for  _help._ She hasn’t forgotten why either. That reason is what ultimately killed her after all. She’s had time to take apart their previous conversations, and his reasoning for what he did. What Varys or Tyrion or the Starks might have told him.  

She thought he  _saw_ her, loved her maybe. She knows now he didn’t.

“I cannot be rash. Not now. I may scream all day that I am not my father or my fore-fathers. But I need to prove it. I  _will_ win the people of Westeros and they will welcome my rule.” Otherwise she would leave. Because there would be no point. No point to achieving a throne just to live in paranoia and fear. To be haunted by the ghosts of loved ones, and strangers, killed for pride and an ugly throne. Jon’s expression is hopeful she thinks, when he responds.

“You haven’t given up, good.” It’s the closest to an endorsement she will get from him. It reminds her of one of their final conversations from before. He accepted her as his queen and for him that is enough. Then Jon glances to the space behind her where her bed is. He doesn’t offer in words; he hasn’t needed to in the past after all. She shakes her head.

“Missandei will stay with me tonight. I don’t think I’ll seek any other company for some time.” He has been good to her in this respect at least. But she would not be seeking him, nor would she welcome him to her bed ever again.

He nods, and leaves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Dany's decision on the invitation will be?  
> also sorry for the slow update. February was a *month* but March is looking up.  
> Special thanks to Lightsabr on discord for helping me develop some Draconic stuff for this!


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